Slaying the dreamer
by emskitkat
Summary: Hermoine starts to look at snape in a new way, but will she be able to get him to see her the same? might have lemon in future chappies, ppls choice!
1. Early Rising

The gentle rays of dawn filtered through the window casting the shadows to the corners and warming the sleeping form that lay sprawled on the bed. A groan escaped the lips of the sleeping figure and she flipped on to her other side, chestnut hair blocking the stubborn light that seemed determined to get a rise out of her. As the sun lazily rose the light successfully managed to sneak up to her face and with an angry growl, her eyes fluttered open, squinting in a pathetic attempt of a glare. "ugh, dammit, fine you win!" she said with vehemence as she tottered on unsteady feet. Padding towards the bathroom she stared at her reflection. And stared. Then stared some more. Cocking her head to the side she tried again. No difference, none at all. Tousled, bushy, chestnut curls stuck in all directions, caramel eyes that drifted closed every few seconds, full lips, rosy cheeks and a long neck. Unfortunately for her, that wasn't what she saw. As far as she was considered she thought she saw a half formed brown afro, brown eyes, giraffe neck and all in all something despicable. With a halfhearted sigh she trudged for the shower. "Guess what they say about change happening over night is bullshit. Oh well." Pulling open the shower curtain with excessive eagerness, it squealed at the injustice scarping against the metal pole. As the small bathroom filled with steam it also filled with song, the melody mournful. It was a strong contrast to the overall setting, pink curtains tied with a flourishing bow framed the small window, and the white counter was littered with roses, every colour and size. The large mirror fogged over and dimly reflected the beige walls, fluffy pink rug and bubble covered shower curtain.  
  
"Teach me passion for I fear it's gone  
  
Show me love, hold the lorn  
  
So much more I wanted to give to the ones who love me  
  
I`m sorry  
  
Time will tell (this bitter farewell)  
  
I live no more to shame nor me nor you  
  
And you... I wish I didn`t feel for you anymore...  
  
A lonely soul... An ocean soul..."  
  
Slowly her voice died away to but a whisper, the rushing of water drowning out lyrics. How she wished for something more, something, anything. The heart yearns for many things, indecipherable and yet so starkly acute in its want.  
  
She sat on the bed wrapped in her blue bathrobe almost unseen as she sunk into the feather down covers. Flipping though her books she couldn't help but wonder how this year would transpire. She had received the letter from Hogwarts, she was Head Girl, and she didn't expect anything less. It was a given, she could imagine how the gossips would react if Hermoine Granger, the know-it all bookworm had been succeeded. She'd packed the day before, glancing at the clock that glowed with lime green numbers she yawned. 6:45 am. "Bloody ridicules, you'd think the sun would have at least a margin of decency to wake me up at 7:00." Hermoine growled. Slowly she began to get dressed; maybe it wouldn't hurt to dress up a little she thought. Skipping down the stairs Hermoine hugged her dad as she grabbed a doughnut off a green tray. The Kitchen was a merry place, the light danced over the counters and pans that hung along the wall. Denim Blue curtains hung in a leisurely manner as a bird peered through the panes at the small, round table that was dominated by a fruit bowl. The fruit bowl was her mother's pride, but in her opinion it was by far the most awkward, shapeless and demented thing to have been created next to abstract art. On the other hand, it could only be described as, well, abstract. It clashed terribly with everything, its brilliant colours blinded anyone who was stupid enough to try to discern the looping designs that covered the surface, to add to that it was huge. A washtub could've competed with it, and the poor table practically wobbled under the weight, a one of a kind piece of "art" that had been created by a madman. She had tried to convince her mother to get rid of it, but no. It was 'special' handed down for generations, the trademark of the Granger family. They were easily known by two names the insanely smart family or the family with that horrendous fruit 'bowl'. Wincing at it one last time she gratefully got into the Plymouth, she missed school, it was a place where she felt almost complete, burying herself in her studies, and being with Harry and Ron.  
  
Arriving at platform 9 ¾ Harry and Ron greeted her with overzealous hugs and they boarded the train. The scenery flashed by in vivid greens and flashing browns before the golden trio even noticed the train had pulled into a stop at Hogwarts, and everyone made their to the great hall. A/N: lyrics belong to nightwish and Harry Potter and all contents belong to J.K. Rowling 


	2. Begining to the End

A/N: I'm havin some trouble with uploading these damn chapters properly, their turning out all clumped together and hard to read, sorry 'bout it. Just gimme a bit 'till I manage to get the hang of this. This chapter is rated pg-13 manly for language, the higher rating will come in effect later on in the story.  
  
The Beginning to the End  
  
Hermoine quickly stuffed her quill and books into the tattered sack she called her schoolbag. It was amazing how much weight the cloth could withstand, it had held tomes of books, it was more likely her shoulder would pop off before the bag ripped. Cursing under her breath she desperately tried to find her potions book, how could she? The first day of her 7th year potions class and she'd over slept! It was so unlike her she worried if something was wrong, but that thought was banished as fast as she flew down the stairs. Only one thing was on her mind, she had 2 minutes to make it to the dungeons, and everything was against her. She stumbled over Crookshanks who'd slunk out of her room. "Shit!" she mumbled as she grasped onto the velvet red armchair for support. Racing down the corridors she practically jumped the stairs that led to the dungeons; she was almost at the door when she heard her watch beep 10:07, start of 2nd period. Bursting through the heavy wooden door she almost slammed into the back of Snape. "What is the meaning of this Miss Granger?" Snape swirled to look down at her. Black cloak billowing like a bat from hell, the gaunt face peered at her from deep, cold black eyes, staring her down from his long nose.  
  
She swallowed and looked down at the stone floor, "I'm sorry sir, I. I overslept. It wont happen again, really." She bit her bottom lip in nervousness. There was something haunting about him; his presence was overwhelming and mysterious. She felt so weak and vulnerable under his intense gaze, yet she forced herself to look into his eyes; they were like a shadowed pool.  
  
Snape snapped at her,"10 points for being late and 5 for disturbing my class!" Without a second glance he turned and proceeded to the front of the class. Hermoine stood rooted to the spot, 'disturbing the class?!' Class hadn't even started! She silently fumed, damned jackass.  
  
"Hey, Hermoine! You okay?" Ron's whisper reached her ears, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Yea, sorry, What'd I miss?" She quickly made her way towards Ron's table where she sat next to Harry. "Since when do you oversleep?" Harry turned to her, "You sure your not sick?" Hermoine rolled her eyes, just 'coz I dozed a little longer than usual doesn't mean I'm sick. You do it too!" It hurt, she wasn't sure why, but it did. When they did it no one found it unusual, but for her? Heaven forbid.  
  
"Look, it's just that, well, its just not like you." Harry fumbled with his words; he didn't mean to offend her.  
  
" 'Mione what he means is that your always so." Ron paused, " punctual, that's all." Harry looked at Ron, "Is that dictionary I bought you for Christmas actually paying off?"  
  
Ron playfully punched Harry in the arm, but as his cheeks coloured a dark crimson they told exactly what Ron flipped through before going to sleep. Harry buried his head in his sleeve to keep from laughing as Hermoine just shook her head.  
  
Hermoine leaned her arms against the desk; head resting against her palm, eyes tracing the waving grain of the smooth wood. She let Snape's voice wrap itself around her, if she was gonna give this greasy bastard any credit it was that his lectures were by far more captivating than any other teachers. His voice was like smooth velvet, enticing, heavy, and relaxing. Everything he said etched itself in her memory, every gesture that came with those words, if she wanted she could've replayed the entire class with stark clarity. Potions were her favorite subject, though she'd be damned before she admitted it. There was such precision involved with this magic, one wrong move and everything was a waste, it took so much patience, not many people had the skill to excel at this art. Although she loathed to say so she admired Snape for his skill with the ingredients, this and he was her most challenging teacher. Not like the others who praised her with every assignment. No, he was never pleased; nothing was good enough, and she strived to be the best. She would impress him, it was one the things she had promised herself she would accomplish before leaving Hogwarts.  
  
She watched him, the fluid motion of his hands, like a dream weaved around her she saw, heard only him. The potions class seemed to end all to soon for her, quickly writing down the assignment, she walked to the door. Pausing at the doorway she looked back into the dungeons, the torches flickering along the cold stonewall cast long shadows to fall across the desks like fallen men. Shelves were lined around the room, dark bottles of ingredients lined in alphabetical order row upon row, stood like the ranks of soldiers. The tables were set into two columns, their polished surface glancing off the light cast by the torches, and at the front stood Snape's desk. It was a large table; made of mahogany the rich brown a sharp contrast to the entire room. Every sheet of paper had its place, every speck of dust knew where to lay, order reigned supreme in this cavern, like the man who now sat hunched over the afore mentioned desk.  
  
He turned his head to look at her, cocking an eyebrow he asked, "What is it now Miss Granger? Wanting to spend some more quality time because I'm sure I could arrange for you to wash something."  
  
"My apologies Professor, I was just." she trailed off. What? Was she gonna tell him that the dungeons looked a bit drab and he should redecorate. It was a tad medieval, and with a splash of colour his students might enjoy the class more? She almost laughed at the look she was sure she'd get. Not to mention the points that would be taken off for being a smart ass.  
  
"Just what exactly Miss Granger? An invitation to a tea party?" His voice dripped sarcasm, the velvet turned to a whip.  
  
" Umm, I just blanked out for a moment, sir." Her voice resounded through the empty classroom. Hermoine cast a quick glance at him, as the pale light seemed to soften the sharp angles of his features, a rose tint scarcely etched itself across his cheeks and for once in her life, she assumed that Professor Severus Snape may be a small bit attractive. Quickly turning she ran for the staircase, the cobbled hallway a grayish blur under her feet.  
  
Severus Snape let out a tired sigh as he laid his head against his folded arms. The black material of his robes felt soft and smooth against his cheek as he closed his eyes. Gods, he didn't know if he would've made it 'till the next class if it weren't for the lunch break. The ever constant pulsing in his head was driving him insane, he was so tired of teaching these classes. None of them cared a fuck's worth about potions, they didn't understand the beauty of the art, and none of them even had the potential to try to. All except one. He had felt her enraptured gaze on him throughout the entire class, she seemed to crave for every word, but what else could he expect? It was the Granger girl. She treated all the other teachers the same, although it would have been pleasant to believe in the naïve thought that he was exceptional. He scoffed at the idea, if only. If only.  
  
A/N: yup this is the second chappie, I once again apologize if it loads all smunched together again, if you want more you've gotta review! I can't continue if no one's reading Luv ya all, Cathy ~.^ 


	3. Unexpected Discovery

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter it's all J/K Rowling's  
  
A/N: Umm, after reading my own last two chapters I want to apologize. My writing has degraded into a form known as cryptic caveman; I guess that's what happens when you've been deprived from books. Anyway, hopefully you'll be able to bear with me as I try to scamper my way out of that little pit. Also my plot hedgehog has rammed into a wall, and has no clue where to go. He's gonna try to nibble his way through, but at the moment he's been successfully stumped. This story is going in a completely different direction then from what I expected. Hell, this was gonna be a Herm/Draco story and the next thing I know I'm sticking Snape in there, so all my previous ideas have kinda gone down the drain, so I'm gonna do my best to manage a reasonable story outta what I've started. I think that's about all I'm gonna ramble about. Enjoy!  
  
An Unexpected Discovery  
  
The Great Hall was crowded as always at lunchtime. The four large tables held a feast not even a king could dream of, every sort of salad, poultry, juices, everything imaginable. The blue sky sparkled overhead and the room itself practically glowed. Hermione oblivious to everything downed her pumpkin juice and sprang up from the Gryffindor table. Harry caught her sleeve before she could zoom off towards the door, casting a withering glance at him she stated, "what?"  
  
"Where do you think your going to? Class doesn't start for another half hour." Harry's glasses slowly slid down the bridge of his nose making him look like Mcgonnagle. Laughing Hermione pushed them back up " I was heading to the library, Harry. I've got something I want to look up, is that a good enough excuse?" Harry smiled, "Yea, I should have figured."  
  
Hermione walked through the large awning of the doorway to the Library. She loved this place it was her haven. The soft brown of the bookshelves, the aged spines lined in rows, continuous sea of colour and the high chandelier that was suspended from the domed ceiling casting a comfortable yellow light. She made her way to her favorite table. It was at the far back partially hidden by bookshelves and sat right in the corner. The dark brown manzinita wood welcomed her, the pale light glimmering off the polished surface and she gratefully sank into the cushioned chair. She'd missed this library during the summer, in a sense it was kind of pathetic, but she really didn't care.  
  
This was like her second home; she was more at ease here surrounded by ageless tomes than in any party. Books don't judge, they don't care what you look like or what people think of you; no they had no care for that. They accepted you whole and without question, accepted your curiosity and fed it, they were her family.  
  
Pulling a random book from a shelf she turned abruptly, truly there was no reason for her to be here. She just wanted to assure herself that her haven was still accessible to her, no matter how incredulous it sounded. Turning she bumped into her chair, clutching the book in protective grasp, Hermione tried to stop her fall. The ground rushed at her, the tan carpet came into stark relief and with graceful "oomph" she smashed her hand on the bottom of the bookshelf.  
  
"Holy fuck!" She hissed, the book lying forgotten near the table. Hermione cradled her hand spiting colorful verses towards the bookshelf. Glaring at the offending object that was the cause of her distinct thrumming in her hand, she gasped. Inching closer she leaned down to survey the bookshelf closer, there was a distinct outline of a drawer. What the hell? Since when did they build drawers in bookshelves? She'd been in this situation before, sitting cursing at this same bookshelf before that is, and she'd never noticed any drawer outline. This was something new or else whatever spell holding it invisible had been released. Her pulsing hand still was pressed to her breast while her other traced the outline of the distinct rectangular shape. Hermione tried to fit her fingers into the narrow holes; she thanked her mother for forcing her to grow out her nails. Clawing at the small opening, her nails got a grip on the woods grain and she painfully began to pull out the drawer. She bit her lip as she felt her nails bending outward, "C'mon just a bit, just this little bit."  
  
The drawer fell out of its niche with an audible pop, and Hermione glowered at it. She'd been doing that a lot, stowing away that observation in her little 'To Correct' section. Hermione continued to glower, a definite frown set on her features. "Bloody Hell! There's nothing in it!" and sadly enough she was right as usual. The box was empty, only a thick layer of dust covered the bottom. There was no way someone would make a secret drawer to store dust, casting the drawer to the side she peered into the hole at the side of the bookshelf. Dark. Musty. Dusty. Determined to find something, Hermione stuck her hand probing the darkness for an object. Her fingers skimmed through the dust leaving swerving trails, Hermione scrunched her nose in distaste as the air filled with dust. "Yes!" she practically squealed with delight, her hand closed over the solid object.  
  
It was a book. The cover was thick with more dust, the layers almost an inch and some thick. Clearing it with a rub of her sleeve, Hermione inspected the tome. It was large, bound in leather dyed a dark navy blue, cracks littered the cover like rivers and in faint, silver, flowing writing "Eternally Forsaken". Hermione traced the curving letters; slipping her hand under the cover Hermione pried the tome open.  
  
Dry, brittle parchment met her curious eyes, and in the middle with the same flowing hand the title repeated itself. Gently turning the page, she was amazed the ink had not faded, then again it was probably enchanted, but why wouldn't' they want to enchant the book from wear as well? Shrugging her eager eyes flowed over the page:  
I have lost all hope for this condemned race. We are naught but sinners, cruel destroyers of a helpless planet, wrecking havoc upon our own kind, merciless and without pity. Sooner or later, just like the world's first day the planet will be cleansed, history has taught us nothing. None understand their human rights, they refuse to be what they've come here for, letting themselves be swayed by others, thoughts, opinions. None of them with a will, all believing whatever they see, not even a glance to check for a two-way glass. I am of no exception, I have added my own unforgivable deeds to the ever-increasing list, but oh how do I repent. My sorrow does nothing to help those I've crushed, strangled mercilessly dozens by killing one. My dreams are haunted by the memories, each a vivid picture of my inhumanity. Yet despite this all I cannot leave my sinful ways, I strive to cleanse this world of its impurities, even if it means I must suffer and many those around me. I will continue no matter the torture or the anguished cries, the race must be cleansed.  
  
Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion, what was this? The writer was obviously a very disturbed person, but what were his motives. If there was anything Hermione loved anything more than books it was puzzles, and this definitely fit that category. Settling herself onto a chair she lost herself in the current of cursive words.  
  
Fury spirals in the dark Leaping flames of anger spark; Vengeance takes a wrathful hold, Beware the beast within its fold.  
  
I am but a mortal fool. Contradicting myself in each belief, I fight against what I am, what flows through my blood if even it was generations past it is still a part of me. I fight for man who does the same. We are all one; each with a unique ability and each need each other to continue. Cleanse? Cleanse of what? To purify this land would be for humans to be vanquished. That I cannot strive for, I am too cowardly to take my own life. Even through ages past our history is tainted, a bloody line drawn through time.  
Turning the page Hermione bit down on her lip, what was this? The words were viscous and written by a desperate hand.  
  
The King had a son. One prince that was nothing of his dream boy, but he had another that none knew of. He had created this boy of clay, and brought the most powerful sorcerer to blow life within the hollow frame. The boy looked just like a human, acted just as one, but anything he touched turned to grease. Standing on his balcony the King decided to see if the world would accept him as they're own, and a plan formed in mind.  
  
The boy was kept in a giant mansion with two hundred greyhounds, the maids arrived once a year to clean and feed the dogs. His complexion was fair, golden hair and toned skin, the personality golden and once brought to the light the women flocked at him like vultures for the kill. The King decided to marry him to a princess from a bordering land.  
  
This princess was of such beauty that people said in truth she was so ugly that it blinded. Every morning a witch would come blindfolded and cast the spell on her and then killed so as not to take the risk of idle talk, but this was all only gossip.  
  
The two were married in a joyful celebration, their love for each other true and pure. They were the perfect match, each as beautiful as another and kind to the nation.  
  
As the moon bathed the bed in light the king smiled. His creation was accepted by the living, but would the dead take him as living? That thought haunted the king. What if his creation had flawed? Well, he'd just have to see. With these parting thoughts the king was lulled into content slumber by the moons caresses.  
  
The Princess and the Prince had decided to go for a drive. The weather was warm and inviting and so their carriage bounced happily along the pebbled road. Reaching a ruined roman amphitheater the princess was eager to have a picnic there. They both climbed into the heart of the amphitheater, the darkness thick and chilling.  
  
The prince built a fire and as the leaping flames lighted the rows of seats he walked amidst the aisles reading the names engraved upon their backs. Grabbing his arm the princess hissed, "No! You call the dead from their rest, come back to the fire." They sat in silence, the blood sausage cooking in the coals, the skin turning black. "You must never cut yourself when in presence of the dead. The smell of blood turns them ravenous and they'll tear you apart." The princess voice was, but a whisper except her voice echoed with startling clarity throughout the amphitheater.  
  
As the princess took the knife to cut their sausage despite her own words of caution she pricked her finger on the tip. C rimson tainted white and with a sharp gasp her eyes widened in fear. The dead flew at her, their icy fingers tearing flesh like cloth. Strips of flesh scattered in all directions as her scream lifted into the air and echoed a thousand times over, there was no escape. Her blood ran rivers from the stage icebergs of skin drifting by its currents. As quick as it had begun, it was over.  
  
The prince was shocked. Tears spilled unheeded as he surveyed his wife's remains, all bloody pools. Sobbing he lay curled on the stage, sleep finally overtaking his exhausted body.  
  
The prince made his way out of the amphitheater. To his surprise there was his wife. Standing with her back to him. The wind playing with her hair, whipping it into circles as it tugged playfully at her dress. The prince ran to her, his joyful exclamation lost to the wind. " My love!" his outstretched hand quivered with anticipation. Turning to him she smiled, her eyes sparkling with light. His hand shook and he gently brought his finger to trace her jaw. The index finger skimmed the skin, and as his finger glided a red streak was trailed along her jaw. Her skin was as a knife, slicing through his finger.  
  
The smile turned viscous, teeth bared. Eyes holding a carnal hunger as she lunged.  
  
"NO, My love!" His cries diminished to a silent agony as the others came for their share. His blood joined with hers, their rivers creating a crimson ocean that ran among the aisles. A red carpet had once again appeared within the theater, let the shows begin.  
  
The King smiled; yes his son was perfect, even the dead had thought him human. Glancing at the setting sun his smile broadened, the perfect end to a perfect day and son.  
  
Hermione stared at the page. This was twisted! What kind of logic was this, it was sick and intriguing. She'd never read of these things before, this had a medieval ring to it. Would it explain itself farther on?  
  
A/N: Okay, umm, sorry for taking so long to update. Please review, I want to thank BlueBliss, Glasshouse19, Ponine, Silinna & ...... Thanks for the reviews! They mean a lot!  
  
Luvs,  
  
Cathy 


	4. Awkward Situations

A/N: No, I haven't abondaned this fic, I am just updating challenged and with the fact I got a parrot.well simple way to put I don't have much time on my hands. Anyway, I've finally gotten this chapter out, and I love all my reviewers! YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST ^.^  
  
Discalimer: *sigh* nope still aint mine, all that plotting and scheming with the dustmites hasn't paid off.  
  
~*Chapter 4*~  
  
Awkard Situations  
  
Hermione sat holding the book her back leaned against the bookshelf. Her finger tentatively skimmed at the pages edge, who did this belong to? Was it wrong to read this so nonchalantly, it could have been a diary.oh well. Turning the page Hermione continued to read, apparently the story ended here, the rest of this page was like a journal. What was the point of that earlier tale? Returning her attention to the fragile pages the words flowed:  
  
The blood surrounds me, it laps at my feet like a crimson tide. It fills the air as I write, weaving patterns like smoke and flowing like the fog. What have I participated it in? They deem it a cleansing, I call it a massacre. I could do nothing, I watched in helpless anguish as they fell, should I have said a word in disagreement I would have joined the fallen.  
  
They're raucous laughter lifts to the rafters where I hid. I cannot celebrate such horrors and on the very same land where they murder. Remorse is unknown to them, pity a myth like Atlanta, guilt as forgotten as their mothers, but their false pride rides high. The name they have choosen for themselves curls around the essence for their being they truly are: I Mangiatori di Morte, the Death Eaters. I can sense their approach, probably my good 'friend' come to taunt about my weakness and drag me down to have my fills.  
  
I have once again an opportunity to fill in the pages of this journal; within the cover of dark I let my thoughts flow forth. . .  
  
Hermione snapped the book shut. The quiet rustle of robes could be heard behind her, probably another student searching for a book, but she wasn't gonna let anyone see this. Waiting for the intruder to make their way down the bookshelf Hermione sighed. Another headache was approaching fast, the massive weight on her temples confirmed it. Quickly rising to her feet she walked out of the library, book hidden under the crook of her arm. Sending a charming smile to the librarian she stepped out onto the granite corridors of Hogwarts; at least technically she did.  
  
With an alarmed cry Hermione felt her feet give way from underneath her, black material entangled between them, this just wasn't her day . not even twenty minuets and again she'd managed to fall hard on backside again. Preparing to apologize, although it wasn't entirely her fault. After all it was that person's fault, they weren't moving, how was she supposed to know? Looking up from her elegantly sprawled position on the floor  
  
Hermione bit her tongue, oh gods.not again!  
  
There, in a heap of black robes lay a very displeased and startled Professor Snape. Truth be told he looked like a fish out of water, she suspected he hadn't laid on the floor for a number of years. Suppressing a smile that threatened to spill across her face and undoubtedly dig her grave deeper Hermione tried to apologize.  
  
"Professor, I'm sorry. I wasn't."  
  
If looks could kill Hermione was sure she'd be a pool of blue steaming goo. Why blue? She didn't know herself.  
  
"I'm quite aware that you weren't watching where you were going, don't waste your breath. Another five points off for sheer stupidity, I hope it doesn't turn into a trend, Miss Granger."  
  
Trying to untie the vise his robes had created Snape felt less than charitable at the Moment, that goddamned Granger girl! She was managing to rake on his nerves even out of class.  
  
"Her and her bloody questions." He mumbled.  
  
"Excuse me sir?" How did he think he was? Sure, he was her professor, yea he could take away all her house point, but to have the nerve to insult not only her intelligence but to call her stupid in her face! Hermione fixed a glare at her professor, that slimey git. Snape wasn't in the least perturbed by her gaze, "Miss Granger, please refrain from making any comments, mind your place." With that he rose leaving her on the floor, mouth agape and fuming. Pursing her lips Hermione collected what was left of her dignity and continued to the Gryffindor tower, cursing Snape to all seven hells.  
  
That man was absolutely horrid! Her earlier thoughts about him brought a blush to her cheeks but she sent them away as she recalled his scathing words. She determinedly marched on swallowed by her thoughts and oblivious to all. The paintings on the wall that waved and chatted among themselves, the elaborate tapestries that adorned the cold stone walls, their threads weaving designs of the four houses and of journeys long past. Not even the twisted iron creations that held the torches in their thin grasp or the large windows which viewed out into the spanning vista below.  
  
No Hermione was oblivious to all, churning her thoughts with such fierceness that any windmill operator would have been put to shame. The very thought of him daring to speak to her like that! She'd show him, if he thought her questions were stupid then she'd just give him a dose of how stupid they really could be! Tossing her hair over her shoulder Hermione turned towards the Portrait that led to Gryffindor tower.  
  
It was of jolly woman that leaned towards the rounder side, her satin pink gown did nothing to flatter but surprisingly suited her character remarkably well.  
  
"Good afternoon Miss, password?" The woman smiled at Hermione.  
  
Smiling in return Hermione answered " Peaches and raspberry cream"  
  
Swinging aside the 'Fat Lady' as the lady portrait had been so disrespectfully named Hermione wondered who had chosen this week's password? Shrugging the thought off for later questioning she entered the common room.  
  
It was a lavishly decorated room, with gold and crimson dominating the color scheme. Three large windows were set against the wall framed with red curtains and golden tassels, six heavily cushioned armchairs arranged in a circle on the far left of the room invited anyone to join a conversation. They're lush cushions a tempting sight for any exhausted student. The stone floor was covered in a large carpet, the Gryffindor lion emblazoned on it with a stylized stroke. Turning towards the spiraling staircase that led to the girls dormitory Hermione waved to Neville who lay on the couch, partially hidden behind the huge backrest, he didn't seem to notice her, staring at some point above the mantle, its painstakingly polished surface glancing off the sunlight that streamed through the windows.  
  
Continueing Hermione paused. Goodness, where was she going? Quickly climbing down the stairs and entering the door that had the words 'HEAD GIRL' she whispered her password.  
  
"Serene madness" with a quiet click she swung the door open and sighed as she fell back onto her bed. The quilt nestled around her, the softness comforting and lulling. If she had to pick one thing she loved most about being head girl she definitely choose privacy. She didn't have to hear Lavender and Pavarti gossiping about the newest guys they laid or what was the fashion of the minute. No, here she had her silence, here she could relax and be herself without the worry of a judging eye; it was like the library with a bit more freedome.  
  
Please review! I'm going to be updating much more often now, I have time! 


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